


Tied Up

by STOPiamreading



Category: Markiplier Egos, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Humor, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Humor, Gay, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot, Short One Shot, Swearing, implied Amyplier, mentions of guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/STOPiamreading/pseuds/STOPiamreading
Summary: Wilford Warfstache, the great bow-tie enthusiast himself, can't seem to remember how to tie a regular necktie. Darkiplier comes to the rescue with seemingly good intent. But what (or who) does he really want?





	Tied Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written after some "interesting" occurrences in my life. heh.

Wilford's fingers fumbles with the tie on his neck in an unsuccessful effort to put it on. He looks at his reflection in the full-length mirror in front of him. His brows furrow in concentration as he struggles to remember how to tie a tie.  _Does this go over or under?_  Wil is a bow tie enthusiast and hasn't tied a necktie in a while, but it couldn't have been  _that_  long, right?  

The only reason why he was wearing the choking hazard in the first place was because of the strict dress code that Mark enforced. Mark  _explicitly_  told him not to wear his usual colorful and sometimes flamboyant outfits for this event, giving the colorful man a drearily plain black suit set (as Wil didn't own any, since they were "Dark's department"). Wilford obeyed, but only because the event was important to Mark, and he  _somewhat_ respected the man. 

Of course, Wilford kept his usual faded-red to pink suspenders on underneath it. It was the only remnant left of his past and he didn't feel safe without it, much like the knife strapped to his thigh. If Mark told him to take it off, then Wil resolved to just shoot him. Wilford took shit from nobody, and shooting his problems away seemed to always do the trick. At least temporarily, before they woke up. 

Wilford couldn't even remember what the event was. Was it Mark's wedding or funeral? He only knows that Mark was the main event and that it was a _terribly_ formal affair. If he had it his way, Wil would make everyone wear his signature Warfstache (or at least copies of the original) and make everyone dance and be happy. He didn't care if it was a beautiful bride or a coffin going down the aisle, right now he just wanted to get the goddamn tie on.  

Wilford groans in annoyance and undoes the loose knot, flinging his hands up dramatically in frustration. He had too much of an ego to search it up or ask Googleiplier how to tie it. Wil was determined to get it right himself, though it was difficult as Wilford's patience was fleeting at best and comparable to his unstable, fast-paced love life at worst.   

The door opens slowly, a faint static sound and a red and blue light giving away the man standing there. Wilford doesn't bother to turn to turn and face the entity, not wanting to see the gloating smirk on their face. He instead concentrates his gaze on the mirror and the still-untied pastel pink tie around his neck.  

“So you can tie a bow tie but not a regular necktie?” Dark asks from the doorway, audibly smirking.  

Wilford finally turns to the speaker with a roll of his eyes. There's Dark’s rare gloating, conceited, asshole-of-a-smile, the one he seemed to save only for Wil whenever he made a fool of himself. Wil hated it, but he respected the fact that Dark trusted him enough to actually show emotions other than anger and annoyance, so he doesn't complain. It was nice to see Dark in good humor, even if it was sometimes at his expense. Dark's hands are held together behind his back as usual, also sporting his typical black suit and maroon tie.  

“Hey, at least I  _have_  a sense of fashion. You probably didn’t even change since you wear the same suit ‘n tie every single day,” Wil retorts with a mock pout, arms crossed playfully in front of him.  

“Do you want me to help you or not?” 

“Fine. But not a word to the others,” Wilford warns, uncrossing his arms and turning to face Dark for ease of access. 

“That won’t be necessary, just stay still.” Wil looks at the entity with a raised eyebrow and turns back to face the mirror.  

Dark moves to stand flush behind Wil, his chest lightly feathering the curve of Wil’s upper back. Dark gently snakes his arms around Wilford to adjust the length of the tie, wrapping around the pink mustached man’s torso and arms in what feels like a backwards hug. This pulls the entity unintentionally closer to Wil, Dark's toned abdomen pressed firmly against the indent of Wilford's spine, among other things. Wilford stiffens at the close contact, his arms squished tighter to his sides. His eyes widen at the amount of physical contact that Dark, an entity that prided himself in personal space and privacy, is giving him. Not that he had any complaints- in fact, he had the exact opposite.

Wilford wanted nothing more than to tear down those walls that Dark put up around himself, and for the past few years, they've made a lot of progress. Dark actually seemed to trust him now, respect him, maybe even care about him, just a little. And yet, Wil doesn't expect... whatever this is. Wilford questioningly glances at Dark's reflection. _What are you doing?_   Dark makes eye contact through the mirror and gives him a small smile. Wil interprets it as somewhere between _helping you_ and _you'll see_ , which does nothing to answer his question. 

Dark hovers his head over Wilford’s left shoulder to give himself a better view, his eyes gazing intently down on his handiwork as he goes through the process of tying a tie. In doing so, he leans closer to Wil's neck with his face almost touching the mustached man's cheek. Wil flushes with a faint dusting of pink that puts his famous Warfstache to shame. He tilts his head away from Dark and looks at the ground, trying to focus his thoughts on something,  _anything_  other than the man behind him. He couldn’t even bear to watch how Dark was tying the thing in the mirror, or else possibly make eye contact again in his frazzled state. Is it just him or is this suit making everything feel hotter?  

“Relax,” Dark says with a hint of a smile, sensing Wilford’s discomfort. "Don't you trust me?" Wil doesn't trust himself enough to coherently answer the rhetorical-sounding question and chooses to remain silent. Of course he trusts Dark- the demon had gotten him out of more than a few scrapes and run-ins with the police than he'd care to admit. Not only that, but their painful shared past was a bonding experience to say the least. He's "killed" (and I use the term loosely) Mark for Dark, even though Wilford had already forgiven the asshole long ago. Yet still he "killed" him and helped Dark try and take over his channel _solely_ because it would make Dark, probably his closest and only confidante, happy. In that sense, Wil was fully prepared to die (if that was even possible) for him too. He trusts Dark with his life and death, as he would both kill and die for him. He didn't even know if Dark felt even remotely the same, so he left his convoluted train of thought unsaid. That's what "friends" do, right?

“In case you were wondering, it is easier for me to tie it like this. If I were to tie it backwards by facing you, the results wouldn’t be as…  _satisfactory_.” Every word is in a husky, echoed whisper right next to Wilford’s ear. It's a relatively normal statement, Wil reassures himself, snapping out of his thoughts. But Dark’s supernaturally deep voice vertebrates down Wil’s spine, making him gulp inaudibly. It makes him the  _opposite_  of relaxed. He was even tempted to respond that he knew a few  _other_  things Dark could do that would make him feel more satisfied, but he respected the entity too much to say _that_. 

Wil couldn’t even think straight enough to question if Dark was stating the whole truth or whether the demon was toying with him. If Dark really wanted his personal space, he would have just tied the tie on his own neck and then given it to Wilford. But  _no_ , Dark  _had_  to be up close and personal and inadvertently (unless Dark  _was_  toying with him) make Wil all hot and bothered. How long does it even take to tie a fucking tie? Because it felt like ages and it seemed that Dark was purposely going slow.  _Sensually_  slow. Wilford’s thoughts are still loud, hazy, and unfocused as he goes into a gay panic. He was a showman, he was supposed to be able to control himself better than this. And yet… 

 

 _Fuck_. 

 

Wil senses Dark’s faint exhale against the thin skin of his neck, making him slightly shiver involuntarily. He could even smell the subtle dark chocolate scent of Dark's breath (probably from his hidden self indulgent stash), which differed from his overall faint aroma of mint and androstenol. All touch amplifies as Wilford feels the soft scruff of the entity’s beard ghosting against his shoulder, the feathery touches along his chest of Dark’s hands and the fabric of the pink tie draping along the buttons of his dress shirt, how Dark seemed to press closer against his back at some points before moving back rhythmically, in and out and-  

 

 _FUCK_. 

 

“It’s done,” Dark says, moving his arms off Wilford. 

“W-what?” Wil responds, his mouth feeling dry. He snaps out of his temporary trance and eyes himself in the mirror. On his neck is a pastel pink tie in a neat double Windsor knot. 

“Oh,” Wilford answers distractedly. He couldn’t help noticing how flushed his reflection looks. Wil glances at Dark through the mirror, the supposed demon standing behind him to the left. Dark smirks mischievously, admiring his  _true_  handiwork, which was Wilford’s flustered reaction. His eyes have a devilish glint and dilated pupils like a man on drugs. So he  _did_  plan this, that scamp. Something in Wilford snaps. He grins widely, his mind full of one thing: _payback_. 

“But Darky~” Wil teases coyly with a wild, some might say crazed, smile. He whirls around to grab Dark’s crimson tie and yanks it towards him until the entity’s face is inches away from his. " _We’re_  not done yet.” 

Dark chuckles, unfazed. “It took you long enough to notice.” 

 

“Shut up and kiss me.” 

 

* * *

 

And that is how Dark and Wilford arrived 20 minutes late to Mark and Amy’s wedding with tussled hair, wrinkled clothes, and faint marks on their necks. All in all, they looked very decently fucked. Mark’s many eccentric, identical looking “brothers” (other than Jason, who in fact is Mark’s actual brother) captured the attention (and fear) of many of the other attendants.  

 

 


End file.
